There, listening to some magic tale
Of fabled bliss, or fancied woe,
They deck with art the silken veil,
Or tend the flowers that round them blow.
From moss-clad rocks and tangled shades
The murmuring waters roll around;
Sweep thro’ the garden’s green arcades,
And shine along the varied ground.
On waving boughs the plumy race
Sweet carol from the blossom’d spray;